Centering Up

by Mary Linda McKinney:

School of the Spirit held the online one-day retreat Listening to the Sacred recently. Our four programs were represented during sessions by a teacher from each. Scott Wagoner, as the clerk of our Contemplative Retreats committee, encouraged us to consider contemplative spiritual practices. Interesting questions arose during Scott’s session: One Friend asked what the difference is between “centering” and “centering down.” Another asked if “mystic” and “contemplative” are different things. 

I have a tight relationship with the divine flow of energy that I call God and because of this, I occasionally use the word “mystic” to describe how I am oriented. I don’t, though, feel comfortable using the term “contemplative” for myself. I think of contemplatives as people who are deliberate, methodical, slow, and inward, none of which I am. Early in my time among Quakers, I had the impression that most Friends’ minds were like old Irish Setters; they would come into the meeting room, circle a couple of times before the fire and then settle into stillness while my mind was like an undisciplined Chihuahua with the mail carrier on the front porch. My very first clue that I have Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder was after the rise of worship one day: A friend was saying how she couldn’t center down and described what was happening in her mind and how disruptive it was. She talked about it as if it were highly unusual for her. But what she described was how my brain is all. of. the. time. 

I have been Quaker since my middle child Zan, who turns 30 in February, was learning to walk. Over the decades, I have participated in probably a couple thousand hours of waiting worship. And yet, I still struggle with outward stillness and inward silence. My brain simply can not center the way most other Friends seem to do. My body is rarely able to quiet enough to cease movement. I joke that my primary spiritual practice is fidgeting. Sometimes, meeting for worship is excruciatingly hard for me. There have been times when I could not stay in the worship room because the “H” of ADHD came to the fore and I didn’t want to disturb others. 

I used to think this made me a failure as a Quaker. I could not do the one practice that seems to be absolutely intrinsic within the communities of Friends that I worship with. I tried to explain this to an anchoring committee that was supporting me once. One Friend asked why I stay if it is so hard: Why not worship in ways that are easier? I wrestled with the question for years. What I know is that I am my truest self among Friends. In spite of the challenges, waiting worship and our delicious and special way of seeking unity in the Holy Spirit through our business meetings, is the most right path for me.

Which was good to know but didn’t make my sense of inadequacy and failure in worship any less painful. 

I don’t mean to suggest that worship was never deep and rich and profound for me. Sometimes I would know that we were gathered in the Spirit’s unifying embrace. I would occasionally lose myself, falling inward–not toward myself but into the inwardness of being. The best way I’ve found to describe it is this: Have you ever seen a drop of water resting on a body of water and then suddenly, the surface tension of the individual drop breaks and it dissolves into the body? Sometimes that happens for me in worship. I can’t make it, it just happens. I’m there and then “I” am in unity with all that is in God–which is to say everything. 

I can’t cause this experience. I do, however, have to show up. And not only just attend, but bring my fullest self into the meetinghouse and the meeting room and into worship, fidgeting and Chihuahua brain and all. 

When the question was asked at the School of the Spirit retreat about “centering down,” I thought about it for a moment before coming to see that I do center, I just don’t do it like everybody else. I’m calling what I do I centering up. My most reliable connection to my Creator is through my senses. Everything around me is an opportunity to be reminded of the creative, generative flow of God’s love and so my eyes, skin, ears, nose, and even my tongue invite me to remember that Spirit is within and among and all around. This is the practice of wonder and can be done even while fidgeting. I’m making up the “rules” about centering up as I write so bear with me. Centering up is spontaneous but also intentional. It can be done with enthusiasm and expression, or quietly, and often causes joy. When I center up I become aware of what is sacred through whatever comes to my attention in the moment: A white fluffy cloud passing through the blue sky, a thought or idea, the neighbor’s annoying leaf blower, my spouse’s hand in mine, that pain in my back, a breeze touching my bare arms, the umami of a mushroom, and the hummingbirds that flit to the red turk’s cap flowers outside my kitchen window are all opportunities to remember the Sacred. I’m less likely to recognize the sacred when staring at the screen in front of me but it is possible. It helps to lift my eyes to the trees beyond and track a leaf falling to the ground. When my attention returns to my laptop, I have more capacity to recognize God’s presence in what I encounter. Even attending to my dog’s waste on our daily walks can be an opportunity to center up and express gratitude if I allow it to be. 

I think of the contemplative practice of centering down as turning inward, like pulling on a monk’s hood to remove distractions. But centering up is turning outward to allow the distractions to become reminders of the Holy Spirit’s abiding presence. For me, centering up is accepting that God created me as I am with my ADHD and learning disability and that I am made in God’s image. Centering up is embracing my body and my mind as they are in this moment and allowing them to connect with God in the way that feels right and good and natural for me.